Struggle from under the rubble

By Majeda Al-Saqa

 

Some talk about protection as an abstract idea, a distant concept we discuss but fail to act upon. To us, protection is what it should be: an active process, a persistent effort to stop harm before it happens.  So what has anyone done for this, to stop the harm? Will prevention finally happen? Or will we continue to fail those who rely on us for protection? Will we rise to the challenge?

 

When my colleague Ali pulled his 14-year-old daughter Afnan from the rubble after 36 hours, he didn’t stop to grieve. He buried his wife and son, took his daughter to safety and then came to work. This is the reality of protection work in Gaza.

For the past 16 months, Palestinians in the Gaza Strip have been subjected to acts of genocide on an unimaginable scale in full view of the world. And it continues today.

Protecting our people has been nearly impossible. Nowhere was safe, shelters became targets, and those dedicated to safeguarding others were themselves under attack. We have been enduring a genocide in different cycles, and through each of them, our humanity and our activism have taken different forms.

 

Building shelters and community resilience

As the genocide unfolded, our team at Culture and Free Thought Association (CFTA) sprang into action. On October 13, we converted our offices and centres into shelters for families displaced by the relentless bombardment of Gaza City and the north. Over 550 families found refuge in our shelters--women, children, older people and persons with disabilities. They became spaces of protection, dignity and resilience for every individual we served.

This effort required each and every one of us to work together, hand in hand, contributing to the management of the shelters. Initially, our community comprised colleagues from various civil society organisations, along with their families--local and international. But soon, other displaced families came in. We defined roles, set rules and assigned responsibilities to each individual. We established a community kitchen, a common room filled with books and entertainment, a working hub, an educational space for children, a small clinic, and even a safe spot for pets.  There were people in charge of the supplies store, maintenance, managing water and buying food, and a protection committee formed by the families themselves, to make sure everyone felt safe and respected.

This lasted until around January 2024, when the Israeli ground incursion reached Khan Younis, forcing us to evacuate to new locations in the so-called “safe zone”. We set up new shelters only to be forcibly displaced again a few months later, as the Israeli Occupation Forces moved with their tanks into those areas we were told were safe, and began shelling there too.

 

Undeterred commitment amidst tragic loss

Attacks on us continued indiscriminately, and we did what we could to survive and protect one another, despite suffering great losses. All of us lost colleagues, friends and loved ones. No one was spared. We never had the chance to properly mourn 7 of our staff members at CFTA, most of whom were killed with their entire families.  Some of our team were injured, one of our nurses was arrested and almost all of us were displaced, many times, with no homes to return to. We would come to work on donkey carts or walking miles defying the danger, even after some of our donors stopped funding us. We did not stop working, not even for a moment. For us, protection is not a job. It is not about salaries, but about dignity, commitment, and an unshakable belief in our people and our cause.

 

My colleague Marwa's 10-year-old daughter was murdered, and she came back to work. She's our pharmacist. Then, a month later, her husband and mother were murdered too. She came back to work every time, saying "Work is my healing process."

Then there is my colleague Mahmoud, who was badly injured and lost his four daughters: 10 year old Mairna, 8 year old Yasmia, 5 year old Janah  and 4 month old Reemi. His wife, Haneen remains in critical condition, with little hope of getting out for the needed treatment. Despite all this, Mahmoud continued working, rebuilding, facilitating access to water, rehabilitation and distribution.  

Our nurse Alla was arrested with her sister while evacuating from Gaza to the south. On her release after 40 days, she called right away, ready to join the team at work.

I am really amazed by our strength and determination. Imagine going to work 7 days a week, while your colleagues are slaughtered, one after the other. We lost Dana, one of our lawyers, newly married and pregnant, who was killed with her husband and all his family, including the baby inside her. Or our colleague Alla, martyred with all her family, leaving behind Ahmed, her 7 months old son.

It is sometimes assumed that protection workers do not need protection themselves, as international humanitarian law is meant to safeguard them. But in the genocide of Palestine, those norms have been shattered. Our colleagues were not spared, our shelters were not safe, and we carried out our work facing the same dangers as those we try to protect.

 

Expanding protection, despite every obstacle

Despite all this sorrow and loss, we had to go on, as there were lives to save, children threatened, and people in the most vulnerable situations who needed us. So we continued undeterred, expanding our response and interventions.

We continued to run shelters, clinics, educational sites and ‘safer’ spaces. We supported different community initiatives with Mahmoud and Ali, and other colleagues who survived. At CFTA, we always carry out our work to bring the best out of our community, supporting and strengthening it. The genocide has brought many things to a crushing halt, but not our approach.

We are now focusing on supporting those who have returned to their destroyed homes and neighbourhoods in Rafah, the eastern villages, and in Gaza City and the north. When hundreds of thousands of Palestinians began marching back to their homes through the different routes of return, we were there with our mobile clinics, psychologists, volunteers, artists and our Protection Network, helping them to have a safer way back.

Our action is not driven by donors or any agenda. We love and believe in what we do. We do it for our people in Gaza, and for our beloved Palestine.

 

Ending the status quo and breaking the blockade

The greatest obstacle to protection in Gaza is not a lack of aid. It is the deliberate restriction of our fundamental rights. Protection is impossible under occupation, blockade, under bombardment, and impunity. What we need today from those in power is affirmative action to end the ongoing genocide and ethnic cleansing, respect our rights and ensure justice.

Lifting the blockade is not about how many trucks or "dual-use items" enter Gaza. It is about our right to dignified mobility and free access in and out of the Gaza Strip. Occupation must end, the blockade must be lifted end and we as a people must have the right to move in and out freely. Patients should be able to receive treatment and return home safely. Young people should have the chance to see the world beyond these walls, to dream and grow without limits. Even those who simply want to take a normal holiday should have the right to leave, and come back. No people, anywhere on earth, should ever be kept in a cage.

For those of you who care about our protection, know this: Palestine is not a humanitarian case. Palestine is a just cause of people who yearn for freedom, human rights and the end of settler colonialism in our land.

The people who are committing genocide in Gaza and in the West Bank must be stopped. They must be held accountable. They must be brought to justice. There can be no more impunity for them. These are crimes against humanity and no one with a conscience should tolerate them.

We need to start the reconstruction of our beloved Gaza right now, but with the people of Gaza and by the people of Gaza. We don’t want solutions imposed on us: this must be Palestinian-led. We need to rebuild our homes, towns and communities and through it, rebuild our lost lives and hopes. We need security so we can have our lives back, mourn our losses, process what we went through, and begin our healing journey.

 

Voices from the grave – why we must be heard

I would like to close with the story of Zenat. She came to a CFTA centre when she was 6. She grew up with us and became a brilliant young woman, a talented drawer and painter. Zenat graduated from the art university and become our colleague at CFTA. She worked at a space for children with autism and girls with learning disabilities. When Israeli tanks surrounded Khan Younis, Zenat was trapped with her family in her home. She pleaded for help for several days, but nobody could reach her home. After 50 days, when the tanks left the area, she was found martyred with her whole family.

Protection is, at its core, about people - their dignity, their rights and their survival. Zenat’s story, and the stories of Ali, Mahmoud, Marwa, and countless others, must be told. And someone has to tell them. Not just to honour their memories but to demand justice for them. We owe them at least this.